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DVD Review: Curse

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Review by Ben Bussey

Pulau Hantu: a small jungle island in the south of Singapore. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene. That is until a small military unit shows up, on a mission to track down some of their fellow soldiers who have gone AWOL and are believed to be on the island. Quite why they would go AWOL none of the unit can fathom, given it’s peace time, and the whole thing seems at first to be a wild goose chase. But then – as tends to be the case – strange things start happening, people start dying, and panic sets in.

On the one hand, it might be easy to go into Cursed with relatively high hopes. After all, the Far East has long been a happy home for horror cinema, with Japan, South Korea and Thailand in particular giving us many great genre entries this past decade or so. I can’t say to the best of my recollection that I’ve seen a horror film from Singapore before now, and as such I’d heard nothing of writer/director Esan Sivalingam. However, once you learn that Curse is actually a 2008 TV movie originally broadcast as Pulau Hantu (which apparently translates as Ghost Island), your hopes might sink just a little. And once you actually sit down to watch it, initial curiosity will quickly dissipate with every tedious minute that passes.

It’s yet another of those painfully middle-of-the-road horror movies, which whilst not so bad as to warrant outright contempt has very little to recommend it either. Its TV movie origins are betrayed by its dullness, both in sound and picture quality, and in content. Initially it seems like it’s going to explore some fairly dark and serious territory, delving into the origins of the trouble on the island with a history including black magic, rape and murder. This tone shifts wildly once the soldiers are introduced, each getting their own pre-mission intro, most of which boast a bit of good old fashioned crude humour (whilst one soldier enjoys a comedy love scene reminscent of Robin Askwith, I couldn’t help but note what appears to be a large crusty tissue in the foreground). However, these intros do very little to distinguish the characters, all of whom fall into stock roles in no short order: two committed serious soldiers, one hypersensitive nervous soldier, and all the others being lazy, arrogant arseholes with big mouths. Some efforts are made to establish tensions between the unit, generally when it comes to the one female officer played by Pamelyn Chee. Despite her high rank within the unit she is subjected to sexist namecalling, with one particularly stand-out line coming from a soldier who disagrees with her orders: “Woman, is your bra too tight?” On which note, it’s also interesting to see the film is performed almost entirely in English, which all of the cast are fluent in. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by that, but then I’m from England, and most of us here can’t even be bothered to learn our own language, never mind being multi-lingual.

Nevertheless, any themes or devices which momentarily promise to lead to something interesting are thrown to the wind very quickly. The story doesn’t really go anywhere, the characters are almost impossible to give a damn about, and when it’s all over it’s hard to reflect on as anything more than 90 minutes of your life that you won’t get back. Call it Curse, Ghost Island or Pulau Hantu; it’s a bland and boring waste of time under any title. I knew nothing of the Singapore film industry before, and I still feel I know nothing of it now; I trust there’s far more to it than this. In addition, I hope we can expect better things in the future from new DVD label Grayson Pictures, for whom this marks their debut release.

Curse is out on Region 2 DVD on 17th September from Grayson Pictures.

Film Review: Dredd 3D (2012)

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Review by Ben Bussey

How their grizzled, square jaws must have dropped in the Dredd offices when word broke of The Raid. Another downbeat, hard-edged action flick set almost entirely in a tower block full of criminals, following some cops as they fight their way up to the big boss? Oh shit. And the similarities between the two films do not end at the conceptual, as the aesthetics are also remarkably similar: grungy set design, low lighting, tight and claustrophobic camerawork, throbbing electonically-charged soundtrack. Take into account the fact (yes, fact) that The Raid is easily the best piece of action filmmaking in the last decade at least – and don’t just take my word for it, Keri dug it too – and the makers of Dredd may well have cause to feel some dread of their own. Da-dum tss.

I’m bringing this up straight away just to get it over with. Yes, Dredd has a lot in common with Gareth Evans’s gamechanging beat-’em-up, but given the films were in production at the same time there is no question in my mind that those similarities are nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence. Indeed, I’ve been informed by a disgruntled commenter on an earlier post that the whole concept is close to an existing Judge Dredd story entitled Escape From Kurt Russell Block. I can’t comment on how close the film is to this, as I haven’t read the comic in question. Indeed, while I’ve always been aware of the Judge Dredd character and 2000AD comics, I’ve never read much of either, nor did I ever pay much attention to the largely maligned Stallone film, so – The Raid-related issues aside – I was able to approach Dredd as a relatively blank slate, much as the bulk of the audience is likely to.

Casting preconceptions aside, then, what kind of a film have director Pete Travis and screenwriter Alex Garland put together? Well, it’s a curious amalgamation of epic and intimate. It takes us into a dystopian future, but for the most part underplays the sci-fi elements; it introduces us to a vast playing field in the shape of Mega City One, then promptly restricts the action to a single building within that monumental metropolis. While this may make sense from a budgetary perspective (this is a British film after all), from a creative standpoint it’s some strange and risky decision-making for a film that’s intended to (re-) launch a long-standing comic book hero and his singular universe onto the big screen. So, next big question – does it pay off?

Well, all things considered… yes, actually. Dredd is a gripping, grimy gun-fest with a futuristic spin, a dash of trippiness and a liberal side order of pre-chair Eastwood, which might not attempt to rewrite the comic book action rulebook, but is certainly less than dreddful. (Thank you, thank you, I’m here all week.)

So, it starts out like any other day in Mega City One, as Judge Dredd (Karl Urban, above) takes out some scumbags in a high speed chase; as his job title decrees, he not only apprehends the criminals but passes sentence then and there (hint: they don’t get community service). Soon thereafter he’s introduced to a rookie named Anderson (Olivia Thrilby, below), once a street-trash orphan who is deemed to have potential in the Hall of Justice as she has unprecedented psychic ability. Dredd is assigned to take her as a partner for the day and assess her suitability for Judge status (maybe we can add Training Day to the list of films owed a debt…) However, a call-out to investigate a multiple homicide at the innocuously-named Peach Trees – a single tower block that is home to over 75,000 civilians – winds up getting Dredd and Anderson more than they bargained for. Turns out Peach Trees is all but owned by Ma-Ma (Lena Heady), a ruthless drug baroness responsible for the manufacture and distribution of Slo-Mo, a new designer narcotic that slows down the user’s perception of time. When Dredd and Anderson arrest one of her right-hand men, she locks the whole building down and sets her thugs loose. From that point, you just know there’s gonna be a whole lotta judgement going down.

If this all sounds a bit Paul WS Anderson – well, that’s because it is. I mean that in a good way, believe it or not. Dredd plays a lot like how your average PWSA film might, if only he had the common sense to let someone else write his scripts (as was the case on his best film, the recently 15-year old Event Horizon). I must admit to having seen nothing beforehand from director Travis (Vantage Point, Endgame), but he handles the slightly spaced-out, comic book and video game-flavoured action pretty well. I found myself reminded of first seeing Blade; that too accentuated its copious action with a somewhat dreamlike/off-your-tits quality, which I found particularly potent as the first six-or-so times I saw Blade I was at least moderately out of it after getting back from a night out. I get the feeling these would also be ideal circumstances under which to enjoy Dredd, the Slo-Mo sequences sure to be in-tune with an intoxicated state of mind. And I must admit, for once the 3D actually is kind of beneficial, serving to make matters that bit more out-there. Shame the cinematography doesn’t seem to have taken into account how the glasses dim the image, which can impede things somewhat given the aforementioned dark and dingy aesthetic.

Again, given I’ve largely forgotten the earlier Judge Dredd film I didn’t find myself comparing Karl Urban’s performance to that of Sylvester Stallone, and nor should anyone else. As long promised, this film wisely never shows Dredd sans helmet, and with his strong build, permanent grimace and five o’clock shadow Urban suits the physicality of the role with no problem. A pity, then, that his voice feels a smidgen too thin and light to be truly menacing, but at least he’s not desperately forcing the gravel as Christian Bale does as Batman. Lena Headey’s arch villainess Ma-Ma doesn’t have too much in the way of backstory either, but she too does just fine with her scowl and scarface make-up. Olivia Thrilby has to cover a wee bit more ground, as her emotionally uncertain rookie Anderson is called upon to give the film its heart. Thankfully, though the potential is there, her scenes never lapse into sentimentality.

It’s been said this could potentially kickstart a trilogy, and I for one would be happy to see it. Dredd is some great Friday night entertainment, offering plenty of bang for buck, and a hard edge the likes of which we haven’t seen in comic book movies for a while. If you’ve grown tired with how family friendly most comic adaptations tend to be these days, well, now you know just what to go see next.

Dredd 3D is out now in UK cinemas from Entertainment Film, and US cinemas from September 21st.

Review: Beyond The Grave (2011)

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Review by Annie Riordan

I’ve seen some fucked up, weirdass shit in my life, and while nothing will ever knock Executive Koala out of the number one slot, Beyond The Grave is so close behind it that it’s almost anally invasive.

At first it seems fairly straightforward. In the Brazil of the not too distant future, the zombie apocalypse has come and gone and left only a handful of survivors behind. The most badass of them all is a rather dorky looking cop who drives a mean muscle car through the backroads of the wasteland and whose name is never revealed. Not unlike Shaft, the cop is one badass muthafucka, kicking ass wherever he goes and leaving few behind to tell the tale. He’s not totally without a heart however, as is revealed when he comes across two foraging teenagers and takes them along for the ride.

But if there’s one law of the zombie apocalypse, it’s “don’t get too attached.” Our Unnamed Officer leads a very dangerous life. Not only is he constantly fighting off zombies, he’s also on the trail of a body-hopping demon he calls The Dark Rider. The Dark Rider can be anyone, anywhere at anytime. And, being a demon, it cannot be killed. It can only be sent back through the portal from whence it came. Our officer is determined to pin it down and rid the world of its presence once and for all, even if it means offering up his own body as a vehicle.

The Dark Rider is currently piloting the body of a beautiful cowgirl, and she’s not alone. With a smoking hot Indian boy and a sadistic harmonica player backing up her every move and obeying her every command, she’s hot on Officer’s trail and itching for a confrontation. And vice versa. The ultimate showdown is unavoidable and the end is extremely fucking nigh. Will anyone be left alive after the smoke has cleared?

Zombies, demons, cowboys and indians, samurai swords and muscle cars, this film has fucking everything. It’s impossible to nail it down to one genre as it grimly jumps from one to another without apology. It’s Dawn of the Dead, Stake Land, Fallen, Once Upon A Time in the West and Road Warrior, spliced together with scotch tape and soaked in LSD. Apparently edited by someone with really dirty hands and a chronic case of palsy, the film jumps, crackles and stutters, skipping frames and inducing nausea. That was not a complaint, by the way. The whole thing is so grimy and distorted, it’s like it was rolled around on the sticky floor of a strip club and then dragged behind a truck for a full day before being threaded onto the reels. It’s sordid and nasty and will have you feeling sick long before the gore begins. There’s not an ounce of polish anywhere to be found on this gritty Brazilian gem. It couldn’t be ickier if it pulled itself up out of a shallow grave on a coffee plantation with some coke kingpin’s machete still stuck in its ribcage.

Oh, and that smoking hot Indian boy I mentioned? I think his name is Marcos Guarani. I want him. Badly. Someone fetch him for me. I want to run my tongue up the length of his torso and back again. What’s Spanish for “fuck me now, pretty man?” Someone please translate this and forward it to him. Much grassy-ass.

This film won’t appeal to everyone. For instance, people who like their horror formulaic, predictable as hell and CGI’d to within an inch of its shallow, plasticine life will hate this movie. However, if you’re looking for something sick and insane and nuttier than a hamster on crack, give this a watch. It’s streaming on Netflix as we speak. And believe me – despite the fact that there’s 20+ pages of free horror to watch on Netflix, 97% of it isn’t worth watching. This is one of the very few exceptions. Do it.

DVD Review: Wrong Turn 4: Bloody Beginnings (2011)

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Review by Ben Bussey

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: fourth chapter means outer space! Come on, Wrong Turn producers, you should know this. Don’t tell me there was no way you could have got the inbred hillbilly cannibals onto a space station, rocket or flying saucer. Surely that’s a preferable option to going prequel, isn’t it? What with Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning and Exorcist: The Beginning (or Dominion, for that matter), there hasn’t exactly been a precedent set for great horror prequels of late.

Of course, the Wrong Turn franchise as a whole hasn’t exactly set itself an especially high standard to live up to. It’s not a series I’ve followed too closely: the first one bored me, the second was more fun but still largely forgettable, and the third – well, I still haven’t seen it, nor am I in any hurry to do so. This being the case, it should come as no surprise when I say Wrong Turn 4: Bloody Beginnings does very, very little you haven’t seen elsewhere. Why would it? These movies are not in the least bit interested in narrative or conceptual innovation; rather, they’re highly contrived attempts to tick all the boxes for your least demanding horror fan, and give them exactly what they want. And given that within the first twelve minutes we have a guy’s throat being eaten, a woman’s brains being fried and another guy being torn limb from limb, AND a back-to-back girl/girl and girl/boy sex scene, it’s clear the makers of Wrong Turn 4 aim to satisfy their demographic.

To set the scene, if it’s really necessary: we kick off in the mid-70s, when we meet the younger versions of those beloved flesh-eating hillbilly mother/father/brother/sisterfuckers locked up in a sanitorium. Unsurprisingly they don’t stay locked up long, and the lunatics are taking over the asylum, utilising some of the methods detailed a paragraph ago. Fast forward 30-odd years, to presumably just before the events of the first film (not that it matters too much), and we have a bunch of hot and horny college students bumping and grinding their gym-toned and in some instances probably surgically enhanced physiques, and revelling in how affluent they are as they head out on a winter weekend break to – where else – a cabin. But as they inevitably head in the incorrect direction (see, it’s not just a clever title) they find themselves at that very same sanitorium. With no other viable shelter from the freezing weather, they make themselves at home, which obviously involves smoking lots of weed and talking about sex all the time. But hey – could it possibly be they’re not alone? Could those bloodthirsty inbred fucknuts still be in the exact same place three full decades later? Does the Pope shit in the woods?

Now to more important matters. Lipstick lesbian sex scenes, giant drills, college boys skinned alive, and barbed wire utlised for hanging, garotting, beheading and dismemberment. Yes, we’re back to the days of yore, wherein literally the only parts of the film which feature any creativity whatsoever are the death scenes. Inevitably, much of the goodwill these scenes might have generated is all but scuppered by the amount of digital FX utilised, but to be fair there’s still a reasonable amount of good ol’ fashioned practical on show.

As for anything else… nah, there really is nothing else worth saying about Wrong Turn 4. It’s a film you’ve already seen dozens of times, and will doubtless see dozens of times again, with zero deviation from the formula. And if you can accept the film on those terms, then you may wind up having fun with it. However, you may also wind up struggling to see it as anything more than a cynical cash-grab, wearing its own complete lack of invention as a badge of honour. Myself: I’m a little from column A, a little from column B. Well, let’s just do like we always do, grumble for a little while then forget it ever happened. Of course, with Wrong Turn 5 less than two months away from its US release, we don’t have long to wait until the cycle begins again.

Wrong Turn 4: Bloody Beginnings is out now on Region 2 DVD from 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment.

Review: Splintered (2011)

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Review by Annie Riordan

The title of this film confuses me. There’s not a single splinter to be found, either of the mental or the wooden variety. And although I’m sure I could have had more fun digging an actual splinter out of my own flesh with a rusty pair of tweezers than I had watching this steaming puddle of dog diarrhea, I don’t think that’s what the filmmakers were going for either. I think the movie and its makers wanted us to believe that this is a werewolf movie, but had I been the one to choose a title, I would have picked something more straightforward. Like “Snow White and The Seven Stupid-As-Fuck Stereotypes.”

Snow White – here called Sophie – is a sullen goth girl with a dark past, no spinal cord, a shitty attitude and one friend, a dumb, shrieky blond named Jane whose face couldn’t be blander if it had been carved out of butter and left to melt in the sun. Sophie wants to make a documentary about some mad beast that’s been terrorizing northern Wales, but since she’s such an unlikable bitch, it’s up to Jane to bring the rest of the stereotypes along for the inevitable body count. Hence, her asshole boyfriend, her dorky brother and That One Guy who wants to get into Sophie’s pants are brought along for the ride.

I have trouble believing that any self respecting British teenager would actually drink Coors Light, but at the point in the film where a case of the aforementioned watery piss-brew is produced, I started waiting for them all to die and hoping it would be exceedingly painful. Coors Light? In ENGLAND? Come on, guys. We don’t even drink that shit here. At least get some PBR, for fucks sake. Anyway, beer is consumed, pot is smoked, full moon is out and teen drama erupts like a festering zit all over our meager campfire, driving Sophie into the woods to cry and That One Guy (I think his name might have been John) after her in hopes of getting some Pity Pussy. Instead, Sophie decides it would be a really great idea to follow the dark hulking shape she spots in the bushes without telling anyone else where they’re going, and off she and John go to meet their doom, tra la.

Luckily, they built camp right next to a rotting orphanage in the woods. Luckilier, that’s exactly where the mad beast is lurking. Even luckiest of all, they run into a whole shitload of new characters who are perfectly willing to pause in the middle of a killing spree and calmly fill us in on the backstory, complete with cheesy flashbacks and flowery speech that no one has utilized in real life since Jane Austen died. John gets his guts ripped out, Sophie is locked in a cell by a drooling idiot who makes William Sanderson (and his brother Daryl, and his other brother Daryl) look macho by comparison, and the three remaining dolts – none of whom could outwit a pack of Gummi Bears, by the way – have to go looking for them. Because even though Sophie makes a couple of escape attempts, she’s too busy crying and whining and gasping and screaming to really do herself any good.

Finally however, she does escape her prison and then it’s run run run, almost get caught, run some more, hide, slow down, wait for beast to catch up, run run run, stupidly stand and watch as beast disembowels a few people, run, hide, etc etc. Shit, this film makes the Keystone Cops look stunningly competent. The overwrought, maudlin, melodramatic dialog couldn’t possibly be any more treacly if it had been soaked in a barrel of molasses first. And the neverending ending…oh god yes, PLEASE hit the bad guy over the head, drop the weapon close by his hand and walk away without looking back, giving said bad guy ample opportunity to regain consciousness, sit up, grab weapon and come after you AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN, because I just love seeing that outdated ploy used over and over and FUCKING OVER again until the urge to bash my own skull in with a hammer to remove the imprint of ineptitude that your film has projected onto it becomes overwhelming.

Oh yeah, remember when I said that this might have been intended as a werewolf movie? Yeah, well, it isn’t, no matter how much it tries to convince you otherwise. Unless the definition of “werewolf” has changed recently to include somewhat irritable rat terriers, then no – it’s not a fucking werewolf movie. What it IS is a fucking mess and a gross waste of time. Indeed, if horror movies were beers, this would be the Coors Light of the bunch: watered down, flavorless and incapable of providing a decent buzz.

Splintered is available now on Region 1 DVD and Blu-Ray from Well Go USA.

Review: Fell (2011)

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Review by Annie Riordan

Bill has 99 problems and yes, a bitch IS one. Specifically, the bitch in his bath tub, the one who’s face down, naked and very, very dead. He has no idea who she is, how she got there or if he’s even the one who killed her. He thinks he may have, but he’s not sure. That’s where the other 98 problems come in.
 
Bill lives alone. He’s lost his job, quit his band and been dumped by his longtime girlfriend Jenny. He’s also suffering from an unnamed but chronic mental disorder – possibly bipolar disorder, but it’s never confirmed nor denied – and his maintenance medications are really expensive. He also keeps forgetting to take them. Or is he taking too many? The days and nights run together in a disjointed blur as Bill shuffles back and forth from the body in his bath tub, to the radio in the kitchen, to the couch where he sits frantically trying to call Jenny, to the bed where his nightmares are indistinguishable from his reality. His only solace comes in the form of his buddy Derrik, who drops by at least once a day to perform a wellness check, i.e. delivering beer, smokes and pep talks to his disheveled buddy. Eventually, Bill confides in Derrik about the body in his tub. Derrik takes it in stride and the two begin discussing ways to dispose of it.
 

But something remains off about the whole situation, and Bill just can’t put his finger on what it is. Maybe it’s because he’s washing his medication down with beer. Maybe the side effects of the meds too closely resemble the disorder they’re designed to treat. Or maybe he’s just finally gone over the edge into total madness. Bill’s only other connection to the outside world is his radio. Except the radio seems only to broadcast from within Bill’s memories, repeating arguments and half-remembered snatches of conversation in endless loops, Mobius Strips of memory that come from nowhere, lead nowhere and explain nothing, frustratingly eluding his grasp. Both alienated and hypnotized by his own fragmented mind, Bill withdraws further and further…until the day Jenny finally shows up and the metaphorical puzzle pieces finally begin to piece themselves together.

 
I’ve seen very few films that manage to realistically portray mental disorders. They either go overboard with the psychosis, or they underplay the severity, or they get the medication part wrong, or some dumb thing. I partly blame med school for erasing my ability to suspend disbelief, but my own battles with Bipolar Disorder play a bigger part in my pickiness. It’s damn near impossible to explain to other people how the disease can manifest itself, creating swamps of despair from which escape is not an option, to bursts of viciously looping auditory hallucinations which sound very real, very separate from oneself, but still within the mind. In this aspect, director Marcus Koch and composer Kristian Day hit the proverbial nail on the head.
 
The score is a maddening loop of repeated notes, mechanical grindings and static skips that refuses to let up. It slowly and subtly materializes as its own character, an insidious presence determined to keep the needle stuck in the groove. The voices from the radio are indistinct, garbled, often bleeding over into another frequency. Even if the film hadn’t had a good cast of actors and a strong story, the sound alone would have made it for me. It’s a disturbingly realistic portrayal of the auditory hallucinations that bipolar people – like myself – occasionally suffer from. They’re loud, they’re repetitive, and they will not be turned off. And, much like Bill, I can’t afford the medication that suppresses them. Besides, those meds made me blow up like a Marshmallow Peep in a microwave oven, but that’s a whole other horror story.
 
Fortunately however, this film DOES have a good, strong cast of real people and is shot well in a beautifully distorted manner that could only be duplicated by taking a lot of acid and shoving yourself inside of a kaleidescope. The story had me guessing right up to the end, and lemme tellya – that’s not something that happens very often these days. I usually have a film figured out in the first five minutes. This one, though – it’s so hinky and freaky and off its meds that even the most stalwart fan of psycho cinema will be hard pressed in guessing what the final moments have in store.
 

Fell is available now on Region 1 DVD from Chemical Burn Entertainment.

Double Bill DVD Review: Bordello Death Tales (2009) & Nazi Zombie Death Tales (2012)

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Review by Ben Bussey

Two contemporary takes on that staple of British horror, the anthology movie? Why, Don Corleone himself couldn’t cook up an offer I’d be less likely to refuse. In this instance, however, the offer came not from a mafia boss, but from a figure we web critics tend to live in far greater fear of… the director to whom we gave a bad review. True story; I was offered these films for review in the form of this tweet from co-director Patt Higgins: “Hey Ben! You almost enjoyed Hellbride! Fancy checking out Nazi Zombie Death Tales and/or Bordello Death Tales?” Indeed, over two years ago I reviewed Higgins’ earlier film Hellbride, and while it wasn’t the most scathing assessment it wasn’t exactly gushing praise either. Now, I’m not about to name names, but I’ve written reviews that were kinder and still wound up getting shit from people involved with the film as a result. As such, I have to say I sat down to watch Bordello Death Tales and Nazi Zombie Death Tales feeling tremendous respect for their co-director. It says a great deal about a filmmaker’s character that they can accept a less-than positive review and afterwards willingly present their futher work to the same writer, thereby expecting the same unsparing treatment. So bravo, Mr Higgins, the film industry needs more people of your mettle.

Of course, these films are not entirely the work of Pat Higgins. They are collaborations with two other writer-directors: Alan Ronald, whose debut Jesus Vs The Messiah I have not seen to date; and James Eaves, who I know only from his 2009 film Bane, which – again, not to mince words – I regard one of the absolute worst films I have ever reviewed for Brutal As Hell. My gut feeling going in, then, was that things could easily go either way – with a greater likelihood that they would wind up bad. Thing is, Bane’s key problem was a ridiculous premise treated far too seriously, and Hellbride’s key problems were either technical or performance-related. Happily, for the most part these problems have been comfortably side-stepped in both Bordello Death Tales and Nazi Zombie Death Tales, demonstrating good artistic progression on the part of both Higgins and Eaves, as well as marking out Ronald as a talent worth keeping an eye on too.

Kicking off our double bill, and winding up probably the most satisfactory film overall, Bordello Death Tales gives us, logically enough, three stories connected by a brothel run by the enigmatic Madam Raven (Natalie Milner, pictured above). Things kick off as they mean to go on with Eaves’ entry, The Ripper, which opens on a troupe of poledancers doing their thing to a bit of bluesy rock. However, when one of the dancers (Tina Barnes, of Bane) works her charms on weirdy beardy loner Graham (Stuart Gregory), she finds herself involved in his favourite hobby; abducting women and torturing them to death. Not long thereafter, Graham’s lust for gory sends him Madam Raven’s way, but of course the girl she hooks him up with isn’t quite what she seems. Yes, good ol’ trashy violence and sexploitation are at the forefront from the get-go, delivered with just enough black humour to make this an enjoyable chapter. The po-faced seriousness of Bane is thankfully nowhere to be seen here, with Eaves and his cast revelling in the silliness and sleaze of it all.

Next up came the section I probably enjoyed most out of the two films, Alan Ronald’s Stitchgirl, which sees the verbose Dr. Whale come to Madam Raven’s with a very specific girl in mind, who is served up in the form of a ready-made Frankenstein (or, I suppose, Frankenhooker). Shot mostly in black and white, this segment is by far the most light-hearted and nerdy of the three, given that virtually all of the dialogue is lifted directly from The Bride of Frankenstein; no, the name Whale was not a coincidence (although it may come as a surprise that he’s interested in girls). It boasts some very nice, psuedo-expressionist cinematography, and lovely performances from a heavily mannered Julian Lamoral-Roberts as Whale and a beautifully doll-like and inexpressive Eleanor James as Stitchgirl (above). None of this is to be sniffed at, given that poor aesthetics and poor acting are generally the tell-tale signs of low-budget indie horror. There’s also room found for a silly but smirk-inducing nod to Evil Dead 2.

And finally (for BDT, at least), the moment of truth: Pat Higgins’ segment, Vice Day, in which a webcam girl (Danielle Laws) finds herself in an online one-to-one with a prominent politician (Cy Henty) which – needless to say – gets a bit weird. Under the circumstances, it really does pain me to say this, but this was easily my least favourite of the three. Playing for the most part as fairly stagey duologue between these two people from different walks of life, discussing the implicit parallels between politics and the skin trade, it actually loses a lot once the obligatory supernatural element is introduced, as it just doesn’t feel natural to the story. Vice Day also takes itself a bit more seriously than the first two segments, which doesn’t help; not that there’s anything wrong with a shift in tone in a film of this nature, but in this instance it means things go out with a bit of a damp fizzle rather than a bang. Still, Laws and Henty turn in decent, suitably melodramatic performances.

So, one toilet break and dash to the fridge later, and we’re straight into follow-up Nazi Zombie Death Tales (AKA Battlefield Death Tales), which sees all three writer-directors return along with many of the same actors. However, this time around the thread linking the three segments is rather more tenuous. Yes, World War 2 is a common theme, but don’t get too excited by the Nazi Zombie thing; they only pop up once or twice, and are tangential at best to the main thrust of the action. Drawing most heavily on the goosestepping-dead is James Eaves’ opener, bearing the pun-tastic title Medal of Horror. Centring on a soldier sent on a secret mission doing battle with a deadly female Nazi occultist who is resurrecting the dead to aid the German war effort, it’s by far the silliest segment, not least in a woodland scene when an impromptu fight between two zombie soldiers made me ponder whether we’d suddenly cut to a Seiji (Alien vs Ninja) Chiba film. The fun is boosted considerably by a sexy and sadistic turn from Tina Barnes as Hitler’s harlot, Jezebel; after all, who doesn’t love a lady in uniform? (On which note, you might also recall Ms Barnes’ brief appearance as a police officer in F.) Unfortunately David Wayman makes for a less-than inspiring hero, but it’s all nicely photographed and pretty well paced.

Again the second chapter comes from Alan Ronald, and again it’s the most unexpected and probably the most fun: Harriet’s War, in which paranormal investigator Harriet Price (Lara Lemon, below) comes to a small English country town which has been hit by a number of mysterious murders. Again, not too much war-related here, but it’s lots of fun in a steampunk Sleepy Hollow kind of way, with Lara Lemon giving a very endearing performance, really seeming to enjoy all the 40s affectations. We’ve also got nice, very different performances from returning actors Cy Henty and Julian Lamoral-Roberts.

Rounding things off once again is Pat Higgins, and once again I’m sorry to say it’s the least entertaining chapter. (I’m not doing this on purpose, honestly.) Devils of the Blitz features a daughter, mother and grandfather in a London house during the Blitz, who find they have more to worry about than German bombs. Not unlike his entry in BDT, Higgins again strikes a somewhat more serious tone and keeps things very character-based, with more emphasis placed on the family tensions than on the bizarre (and distinctly non-zombie related) supernatural threat. Again, there’s nothing inherently wrong with Higgins’ approach here, but it feels like a bit of a down note on which to close a portmanteau which is otherwise playing things mostly for mirth.

Let’s face it; this kind of underpriced schlock horror is never going to be to all tastes, and many will undoubtedly be put off straight away by the low production values and largely stilted performances. But hasn’t that generally been the case with British horror movies over the decades? Isn’t that theatrical, unreal quality part of what makes it work, flaws and all? In honouring that tradition, and the format that was so prized in British horror in particular back in the 70s, these films have a real charm that we don’t find in a lot of contemporary genre fare. It seems the plan is to keep on making Death Tales anthology films, and I for one certainly wouldn’t say no to more. Apparently they’re open to suggestions for further concepts to go with, so thinking caps on everyone…

Bordello Death Tales and Nazi Zombie Death Tales are both out now on Region 2 DVD from Safecracker Pictures.

FrightFest 2012 Review: Chained

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Review by Stephanie Scaife

Okay, so I have a confession to make and I may be entirely alone in this but I actually kind of like Boxing Helena. There, I said it. Of course I mean in a so-bad-it’s-good sort of a way, but I certainly don’t regard it as one of the worst films ever made, as do some. I’ve kept a close eye on Jennifer Lynch over the years and particularly enjoyed Surveillance (2008), despite its flaws, so was eager to check out her new film Chained, which had arrived at FrightFest with a certain amount of buzz and controversy after receiving the notorious NC-17 rating (which is frankly ridiculous).

The opening sequence of Chained is really something special: Sarah (Julia Ormond) and her 9 year old son Tim (Evan Bird) go to see a movie and have a great time together. After leaving the cinema they flag down a cab to take them home. However, things take a turn for the worse when the cab driver misses their exit and drives them out to his secluded bungalow. The cab driver is Bobby (Vincent D’Onofrio) and he is a serial rapist and murderer of women. Bobby views Tim as an unwelcome addition to his routine, but realises that the boy could be useful so after dispatching his mother he chains the boy up and puts him to work, cleaning, preparing meals, and generally living a life of servitude. This scene is so tense and wonderfully played out that in a way it sets you up for a fall, and the rest of the film never quite reaches the level of greatness reached in the first ten minutes.

Flash forward approximately ten years and Tim – now re-named Rabbit (Eamon Farren) by his captor – is still chained in Bobby’s house, cleaning, cooking and helping get rid of the numerous bodies. Bobby seems to have softened somewhat towards the boy over the years and plans to promote him from reluctant servant to willing protégé. First of all he gives the boy books and encourages him to learn, something Rabbit excels at as he spends hours pouring over medical text books, learning about anatomy and how people work. Soon Bobby is buying Rabbit new clothes, his own chair and even unchaining him. But then we are faced with that age old question; is evil innate or can it be taught? Will Rabbit finally, after all these years, follow in the footsteps of his captor, or will he use his new found freedom to make his escape?

Chained is admittedly a difficult watch, one which is fascinating, intermittently rewarding but ultimately flawed. D’Onofrio is convincingly terrifying as Bobby; I swear that man was born to spend his life playing psychopaths and loose cannons, and both the actors portraying Rabbit turn in believable and heartbreaking performances. Where this film excels in particular is in the relationship between these two main characters, which is tense and often unpredictable, leaving the audience puzzling over their motivations and the games that they play with each other. Their existence is extreme, but even murder can become mundane, as each girl is dragged through the house and Rabbit goes through the motions of putting any cash they had in a jar, memorising the information on their driving licences and updating Bobby’s macabre scrap-book of news articles relating to his crimes. Day in, day out. That is, until Bobby decides that Rabbit needs a woman and brings home Angie (Conor Leslie).

Where Chained ultimately falls foul is in the last quarter, in which we’re subjected to a pretty dreadful “twist” ending. For me this almost spoiled the entire film and I was genuinely angry when I left the cinema. But on reflection, the entire film should not be judged on the ending, and after stewing for a few hours I realised that there was still much to admire. During the Q&A afterwards with Jennifer Lynch, I got the distinct impression that this was ultimately a paid gig for her and she’d done her absolute best with some dodgy material, and was keen to state that she hoped to realise a director’s cut as much of the ending had been edited to meet length requirements. This is something I for one would be keen to see.

I was pleased that along with American Mary, we had two very strong additions to the FrightFest line-up from female filmmakers – something few and far between in a genre so male dominated, both in terms of the filmmakers and the audience. Jennifer Lynch is an interesting filmmaker and I am convinced that there is a masterpiece in her somewhere. Chained comes dangerously close, but is let down by its god awful ending. Still, with the plethora of mediocre and downright bad horror films we all endure Chained is well worth a watch, and fingers crossed it will be a stepping stone on to bigger and better things from Lynch after years of misfires.

Chained comes to DVD and Blu-Ray in the US from 2nd October; no UK release details have been announced yet.

FrightFest 2012 Review: Cockneys vs Zombies

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Review by Tristan Bishop

Cockneys vs Zombies screened as the second film of Frightfest 2012, following the grim but stunning The Seasoning House, and what a change of pace and mood that was. Cockneys vs Zombies is a film that very much sells itself on its title, and that which it promises it delivers, although it will depend very much on your tolerance for braindead horror comedy as to whether what is being delivered is what you actually want.

The premise is a simple one – a group of young bank robbers, including ex-Eastender and Bionic Woman Michelle Ryan, and rapper-turned-actor Ashley ‘Bashy’ Thomas, attempt to pull off a robbery in order to save the nursing home in which the grandfather (Alan Ford, best known for roles in Guy Ritchie films) of two of their number resides. Of course, the robbery doesn’t go as planned, thanks to their clumsy antics and the gung-ho bloodthirst of heavily-armed Thomas, and although they end up escaping with £2 million, they also take two hostages in the form of the lovely Georgia King and TV’s Tony Gardner (who you may recognise from My Parents Are Aliens or more recently the excellent comedy drama Fresh Meat). During the course of the robbery, however, a zombie outbreak has overtaken East London, and so whilst they’re en route to deliver the cash to their grandfather, they must not only deal with their hostages and their own squabbling incompetence, but also hordes of the flesh-hungry undead.

The major problem with a film like Cockneys vs Zombies, or indeed any other British horror comedy, is Shaun of the Dead – a film so perfectly pitched and massively popular that anything else is going to look rather lacking in comparison. That is not to say to CvZ doesn’t have its strong moments: there are moments where you will laugh out loud, but there are other moments that will leave you cringing or wandering off to stick the kettle on.

Part of the problem with the film is that it feels rather disjointed. The robbery scenes veer close to the standard Lahndan gangster flicks which became such an embarrassment after the aforementioned Ritchie’s first couple of films, and don’t provide much amusement at all; but when the zombie virus hits the nursing home it turns into an Evil Dead-style laugh riot, with a plethora of British greats (some of whom, like Honor Blackman and the wonderful Richard Briers, you may not have seen on screen for quite some time) trying to outrun zombies on their zimmer frames and finding ways to fight back against the gut-munchers. More laughs come when the two groups finally meet up but by then the joke is wearing a little thin, and even the sight of Briers with an Uzi 9mm strapped to his walking frame fails to kick it up into another gear for the climax.

Whilst it is undoubtedly wonderful to see the old-timers coming back onto the screen to kick some undead arse, you do feel maybe the film would have been a lot stronger were the focus on them rather than the youngsters who have much of the running time – I for one would have been very happy to see a lot more of Briers and fellow veteran Dudley Sutton. Some of the dialogue falls pretty flat too: an on-going joke where one of the characters keeps getting Cockney rhyming slang wrong is repeated too many times and wasn’t funny in the first place. Also, like many modern zombie movies, a lot of the gore is CGI splatter, something which fans of the grue always lament as it never looks quite right. In a brief introduction to the film at Frightfest, director Matthias Hoene expressed amazement at how the film got passed with a 15 certificate – well, that’s an easy one, Matthias, it’s not remotely disturbing or realistic.

What does work in favour of the film is its decision not to take itself seriously. If you are in the right mood, with your brain checked in at the door and possibly a beverage or two in your system, it will certainly entertain you for 90 minutes or so (with a couple of tea breaks). If it’s brains or balls or heart you’re after, however, look elsewhere.

Cockneys vs Zombies is out in UK cinemas from 31st August via StudioCanal, and will screen at Grimm Up North’s Grimmfest on Thursday 4th October.

 

DVD Review: Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama (1988)

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Review by Ben Bussey

Are you not sold on David DeCoteau’s 1988 B-classic on the title alone? If your answer is no, take another look at the still above. Really. Take your time. Make it a good, long look. Hasn’t that done the trick? Then nothing will. Stop reading now. Be on your way. And I feel for you, I really do.

For those of you still with me, I should hope the following is all you need to get interested: Linnea Quigley, Brinke Stevens, Michelle Bauer (even if she’s billed here as Michelle McClellen), and a gloriously inexpressive puppet in the role of antagonist. Pass the popcorn and try to keep your hands out of your pants. Or at least don’t be too obvious about it.

Okay, if you really need a synopsis, here goes… three college boy rejects are growing bored with their evening routine of chugging beer, reading Penthouse and watching bad monster movies. Happily, they’ve got a plan to spice up their evening: to sneak a glimpse of a nearby sorority initiation, sure to involve a bit of good ol’ fashioned sexual humiliation. Sure enough, they’re soon peeping through a window to see the pledges – Stevens and Bauer, both of whom were naturally way over standard college age at the time – stripped down to their skivvies taking a paddle to the rear and whipped cream to the front (see above… sigh). However, once the boys sneak in to witness the ladies washing off all the mess – which, of course, Bauer and Stevens really take their time doing – they’re soon caught red-handed (to say nothing of the colour of other regions). That’s when the sorority’s alpha bitch Babs (Robin Stille) decides to bring the boys into the mix with the initiation, demanding they accompany the pledges into the local bowling alley and steal a trophy. But once the plan is underway, who should they encounter but someone else trying to rip off the bowling alley in the shape of bad girl Spider (Queen Linnea)? And once they pick a trophy to steal, what should they find inside but a malevolent imp who promises to grant them each a wish…?

Boy, how did this one escape the attention of the Academy, eh?

Ever since seeing the marvellous Quigley/Bauer/Stevens-centric documentary Screaming in High Heels, I’ve been longing to see the work of those straight-to-video legends reborn on Region 2 DVD. Happily, 88 Films are now on the case, bringing the great schlockbusters of the 80s and 90s to a new generation of viewers. This certainly isn’t a bad one to introduce newbies to the joys of Linnea, Michelle and Brinke, given that – as the synopsis might suggest – it’s got that slipshod, making-it-up-as-we-go quality that became their trademark. Obviously the whole enterprise is beyond stupid, but no one’s under any illusions that this isn’t the case, and above all else there’s a sense that everyone’s having so much fun doing it that all other considerations cease to be important. For B-movie lovers, it’s hog heaven, seeped in trashy Americana from its bowling alley setting, college kid cliches, and nods to horror film history; we can’t fail to note the girl who, under the influence of the imp’s magic tomfoolery, randomly transforms into the Bride of Frankenstein, right down to the signature angered swan hiss.

Of course, for faithful devotees of the Quigleytits, this film has a particular notoriety. See, while she’s possibly having more fun than ever as Spider, playing tough and talking trash, the big shocker is… brace yourself now… she keeps her clothes on in this one. Seriously. All of them. For the duration of her screentime. I know, to anyone who’s ever seen Return of the Living Dead, Night of the Demons, Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers or pretty much anything else she’s ever been in, the notion of a perpetually-clothed Quigley is borderline inconceivable. Having discussed the matter on Twitter with @wolfman_cometh, we came to the conclusion that these T&A teamsters had a specific nudity quota to meet per film; as such, Brinke and Michelle do a bit of overtime on this one, with Bauer’s torso notable for its repeat appearances, and Stevens covering the nether regions – or rather, not covering them – in the early shower scene. There must have been many words had with the union rep on this one.

If I’m still not selling this one to you… I don’t know what else to say. Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama is an intellectually challenged, illogical, unrealistic and utterly inconsequential piece of disposable entertainment, and it revels in all these qualities. Even so, there’s some rare spark that makes it stand above the bulk of today’s neo-exploitation. It’s self-aware without being smug; self-referential without being painfully nudge-nudge wink-wink about it. Watching it, you feel as though you’re sitting down with friends to replay a silly home movie you made together years ago, and when you wince and groan at all the stupid stuff, that is entirely the desired effect. Hell, if it’s entertaining enough that we can excuse the fact Linnea Quigley doesn’t get naked, what else really needs be said?

Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama is available now on Region 2 DVD from 88 Films.

FrightFest 2012 Review: The Seasoning House

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Review by Tristan Bishop

Special effects artists occupy a strange place in the world of film. Often all but ignored by the mainstream (especially in these days of overdone CGI), the best of them are lauded as heroes by the horror (and sci-fi) communities.  Witness, for example, Gregory Nicotero being (rightly) honoured at this years Frightfest. And like pretty much everyone else involved in the film industry, effects artists often harbour an urge to direct their own pictures.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the history of effects men moving into direction has been a patchy one: the likes of Douglas Trumbull (who directed the excellent 70’s sci-fi Silent Running) aside, we have numerous misfires along the lines of Tom Savini remaking Night Of The Living Dead (1990), and Italian wizard Sergio Stivaletti finishing Lucio Fulci’s uncompleted final project Wax Mask (1997). So when I initially read about The Seasoning House – the directorial debut of British SFX bod Paul Hyett – many months ago I assumed, perhaps not unreasonably, that this might not be a project to get all that excited about.

The other assumption I made was that this would be a grim and rather exploitative film – again, not an unreasonable expectation, as such subject matter in the hands of a first time director more used to working with latex and buckets of gore could end up in the realms of the tasteless; not that there is anything wrong with tastelessness per se, but when you are dealing with real life situations such as those portrayed in the film then a little tact and restraint can go a long way. In this instance I am very happy to report that my assumptions were partially wrong.  The Seasoning House IS a grim tale, at least in part, but it is also something genuinely surprising and rather special.

The year is 1996, but instead of the second wave of Swinging London and the Britpop explosion, we are plunged into the middle of the Balkan conflict, in an unnamed country.  The Seasoning House of the title refers to a place where kidnapped girls are taken and forced into prostitution for the military, and it is in such a place where we meet Angel, a deaf mute young girl (played by Rosie Day) who was kidnapped after her family was brutally slaughtered, and who is tasked with ‘looking after’ the other girls – i.e. shooting them up with heroin and hiding the bruises/cuts sustained from their violent ‘Johns.’ Whilst the male ‘keepers’ of the house are asleep she uses her small size to slip through vents and the walls of the house to visit the girls.  One girl in particular is able to communicate with Angel through sign language and they strike up a bond, but whatever happiness they have found together in their bleak situation is shattered by the arrival of the ruthless solider Goran (a good role for Sean Pertwee) and his men…

I mentioned earlier that I was not expecting much from The Seasoning House, but it being shown as the first film at Frightfest should possibly have been a clue that my assumptions were going to be challenged; and how wrong I was. This is not torture porn, nor is it a ‘horrors of war’ drama, although it will not disappoint fans of the extreme or bleak areas of cinema.  Instead it manages to impressively balance real life horrors (Hyett spoke after the film about the level of research he did and about how the events nearly all have their basis in factual documentation) and a dreamlike atmosphere occasionally somewhat akin to a fairy tale. Indeed the film works wonders with its grim and grotty setting – the dilapidated, boarded-up house set in a forest (which could be ripped straight from a Brothers Grimm tale), with the girls as the innocent children held captive by the soldiers, who may as well be trolls or ogres for all their inhumanity. In fact the most humanised man in the film is the brothel owner, and even he slits a girl’s throat as a lesson to the new arrivals.

The editing and camerawork are top notch, which is again not something I was expecting from a fairly low budget picture – and Adam Etherington (Cinematography, who seems mostly to make short films) and Agnieszka Liggett (Editing, who also works as an actress accordingly to the Great Oracle IMDB) both deserve a pat on the back, packet of crisps and a sandwich should you ever meet them down the pub. But what really makes the atmosphere of the film is the sound design; deliberately muted in places to echo the disability of the main character, it really really works to highlight the dreamlike feel of the film, particularly in the first half. Also the acting, especially Rosie Day in the lead role – it’s her first feature too – is uniformally believable.

If my enthusing about the fairy tale elements of the story is putting off those craving something more visceral, then fear not, as those elements are also here in spades. The abuse of the girls is not shot in an exploitative manner, but it is powerful and distressing, and when the vengeance finally starts the blood runs in rivers – the fight between Angel and the bestial Ivan is amazingly gruesome and tense, for instance, and had this viewer alternately gasping and laughing nervous laughs, and, not wishing to spoiler anything, the film just doesn’t let the tension go right up until the very end.

In many ways The Seasoning House reminded me of the recent wave of French horror: visceral and unrestrained, but with a fierce intelligence at work behind the camera. I had revisited Martyrs a couple of days prior to the screening and, whilst The Seasoning House perhaps lacks some of the philosophical punch of that film, it certainly stands as its equal in terms of technical mastery.

The Frightfest audience was enthralled and enthusiastic as well – except for one older gentleman who, during the Q&A session at the end asked if it would be recut as he found it unbelievable, and was then roundly booed for his question by the rest of the crowd! Also during the Q&A Hyett stated his intention to make a ‘war trilogy’ of which The Seasoning House was supposed to be the second part, but he was unable to get backing for the more expensive first film of the trilogy.  If the artistic success of this film is anything to go by I believe he will soon be able to command bigger budgets and I look forward to seeing his name (and that of Rosie Day) attached to A-list films soon.